Born: Jan­ua­ry 7, 1858, De­troit, Mi­chi­gan.

Died: Jan­ua­ry 8, 1945.

Buried: Prince­ton Ce­me­te­ry, Prince­ton, New Jer­sey.



Henry was the son of Mah­lon S. Frost and Fran­ces Har­ri­et Fos­ter, and hus­band of Abi­gail El­lin­wood (mar­ried 1883).

He was the first North Am­eri­can Home Di­rec­tor of the Chi­na In­land Mis­sion, and first pre­si­dent of the In­ter­de­no­mi­na­tion­al For­eign Mis­sions As­so­cia­tion.



The Bride and the Bridegroom

My beloved is mine, and I am his.

I am the bride; and the Bridegroom
Is my own, my well-beloved One;
I slept; but He found me, and kissed me,
I awoke, like a flower in the sun;
Since then I have loved my Belovèd;
He loved me before—for He chose;
And though like the black tents of Kedar,
He called me His lily, His rose.

But, alas! I lost my Belovèd;
He went where I did not dare go;
Yet I stood afar off, and I watched Him,
I saw His side rent and blood flow;
Then I came, and I took Him and laid Him
In a tomb, which I closed with a stone,
And oh, the long anguish and weeping,
As I stood there without, left alone!

At morn, while the sun was yet rising,
Early, the first day of the week,
I came to the tomb bearing spices,
As sweet as the flower of His cheek;
And lo! the stone was rolled backward;
I hastened, I looked—He was gone!
Within, where He lay, was an angel,
In garments as bright as the dawn.

I scarce can recall all that happened,
I scarcely knew all in my pain;
But this I remember—I saw Him,
I saw my Belovèd again.
I clung to His feet and I worshiped,
H spake as in days that were past,
And oh, how my heart burned within me!
I thought I possessed Him at last!

I thought I had found Him for ever,
To keep Him, to Hold Him, my own;
Ah me! while sweetly communing,
He blessed me, and left me alone;
Uprising, still blessing, yet rising,
E’er higher and higher He went;
My soul longed to follow—I could not;
Like a bird in a cage, I was pent!

So now, I wait here in the darkness,
While He dwells above in the light;
And yet, though not seeing, I love Him,
And I seek to serve Him aright;
For I live in the hope of His coming
And to have His smile in that day;
Oh, I’ll gladly meet Him and greet Him
And be with my loved One for aye!

I am the bride; and the Bridegroom,
Is my own, all tender and true;
He knows what it is to stand waiting,
At night, with his locks wet with dew;
He will keep His tryst with me, some day,
He will call me, and make me His own;
O hasten, Belovèd, my Bridegroom,
And take Thy lone bride to Thy home.

Henry Weston Frost, 1887
Published in Pilgrim Songs, 1908



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